Marcela Smith

66

Darien clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles whitening with the effort to control his rising anger.

"Enjoying my dinner, Marcela," he retort, his voice steady but his insides churning. "Just like you, I presume."

She laughed, a sound that grated on Darien's nerves. "Oh, darling, there's a world of difference between 'eating' and 'dining.' I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The man beside Marcela chuckled, a sound of shared amusement at Darien' expense. He leaned closer to Marcela whispering something in her ear that made her laugh again, her eyes never leaving Darien's, enjoying the discomfort she was causing.

Across the table, Emma's eyes widened, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across her young face. She was unaccustomed to this level of open hostility, and her initial excitement about the dinner had long since faded, replaced by a growing unease.

Darien, noticing her discomfort, felt a surge of defiance rise within him. It wasn't just about him anymore; it wa
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